TRIALOGUE by Rose Terry Cooke

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 3, 1880

TRIALOGUE.

By Rose Terry Cooke

Gem: WHY was I taken from my rest Deep in the earth's warm, silent breast? Why dost thou vex and wound me so With thy sharp edge, that hard and slow Goes cutting, cutting, all the day, Now this and now the other way?

Disk: I do not on my errand stand; I am a tool, and not a hand. What if I fret, and grind, and wear, And raise thine anger or despair; It is not well or ill in me: I do not shape thy destiny, I do but that which I am bid; The reason of it may be hid, I do not ask or seek to know. Where that hand sends me, there I go.

Gem: I bore the wrench from darkling sleep When I was wrapped in peace most deep; I felt not anger or despair When I was borne I knew not where. But this slow nick and fret all day Wear my poor patience quite away. A blow, a wrench, a final end, Were the kind torture of a friend; But so by atoms to expire Is worse than wasting in a fire. Why must it be—this daily grind That ceases not, nor leaves behind A precious promise for the morrow, Nor offers me surcease of sorrow?

Lapidary: Poor heart so hard! poor eyes so blind! The graver's work seems all unkind, Yet over thee, day after day, I toil and strive, nor turn away Though broken tool and weary hand Thy flinty nature understand. Know that thy hardness, by my art Shall make thee master of the mart, The petty anguish thou dost bear Of daily trouble, hourly care, Is that thy facets all may shine Which lay so dull within the mine. My gracious purpose is alone To make a jewel of a stone; Whenever ray of heavenly light Shall flash to Heaven in answer bright From thy perfected blaze and glow, The use of sorrow thou shalt know. Not by the hammer when it broke, But by revolving stroke on stroke, Thy worth and beauty grow to be A wonder for the world to see; And men shall say, who see thee shine, A Master wrought it from the mine. —Rose Terry Cooke, in Christian at Work.